


Porcyn Brenin

by nicocoer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-25
Updated: 2003-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicocoer/pseuds/nicocoer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angst?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porcyn Brenin

Pale fingers whisper over dark skin, caressing, grasping, finding the points of escape with in both bodies. Foreign lights flicker on hidden shadows, creating the illusion of forever. Two people caught up in one of the most ancient deeds of creation, only perverting it from it's origins. Slow tension builds like it has for all the ages, creating a mountain rising above all other senses.

Breath grows louder as it grows short, speeding up with each contact. An almost audible scream of pleasure strains on of them, the sound trying to be conveyed too much work for the body that is working elsewhere. Bodies twist into shapes that look painful to the eyes of those who have not had the chance to practice them. Then the peak was met, Both collapsed with exhaustion.

The Pale man was the first up. He sat leaning against the head of the bed, a fag lit and dangling from his lips. The other, the Dark man, lay on his back dizzily gazing through half closed eyes at his bedfellow. _Oh, he was good,_ Thought this man to himself, _He always is. He can be such a bloody git some times, but those hands . . ._

Meanwhile, the pale man removed the fag from his lips and exhaled. _Now, those are some hands. An artist's hands are always good, but by god, Dean's hands are better then any other's I've run across. Better then Johann's or even Jean-Louis's. Now,_ he mulled, replacing the fag back in his mouth to inhale, _If only he wasn't a damn mudblood. Nice hands only go so far in father's circles. This has got to be the last time I fallow Dean's fingers home._

"Dean, my boy, I must go. Father will be wondering where the hell I have got to. He must think I'm a bloody drunk, what with me taking too long getting the wine for him and his guests. besides, he doesn't look well on your kind. Well," He paused for effect here, "well, honestly, I don't either. I just like those damn hands of yours. I must be going, rather. yes. society calls one out of the gutter, they do say."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Oh, you're just bloody brilliant, right Malfoy? Oh-so-mighty Malfoy, wanting to please his father like a ninny. Very Well, if that's how you feel about it then I have one thing for you."

Suddenly, his hands darted out and grabbed Draco Malfoy's shoulders, dragging him closer. Dean paused a second a few centimeters from his lips, his eyes twinkling, then pressed his own dark lips to the Pale ones before him. They tasted like expensive wine, velvet, and dark nights spent squandering wealth.

After a moment, Draco slowly removed himself from the embrace, disentangling himself from Those arms, God, those _hands_ , struggling to focus enough to dress himself. After regaining his composure (and his clothes for that matter), he disapperated with a quiet pop. Dean stared blankly at the spot Where his bedfellow with the glorious hands had stood a moment before, not quite knowing what to do now that all that he wanted was gone- if only for the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Or maybe not. not for the day, most certainly, as that day was over and gone several years past. A dark set of fingers held a paper in front of him, straining not to allow them to shake.

**Ministry finds Death Eater base in Malfoy Mannor; four dead on each side** , the Headlines read. In the print below, it went on to explain the details of the raid, a brief history of Death Eaters, and the usual reprise of how Harry Potter saved the wizarding world from the evils of Voldemort several times, ain't it nice. Deans eyes skipped this part, going down to the part that listed the Death Eaters who had been killed. _Among those of The Death Eaters who didn't manage to scatter or give in were three men and one woman, all of whom were kiled in the struggle. sources say that these four were Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Lord Malfoy, and his son Draco Malfoy. Lady Malfoy claims not to have been involved, in fact, unaware, of the things that were going on in her house, and will hold a service for her husband and only son who she lost long before last night to the terrible grip of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

Dizzy, Dean re-read the article again and again, thinking maybe he had misread it each time. Was it possible? Well certainly, but it just didn't seem real. of course, nothing did any more, but that was regardless. Malfoy certainly was a sodding git, but Dean's hands couldn't stop drawing that face, that body, those _hands_. And really, they never would. years later, when his godson was arranging his affairs after his death, he would find in the safe in the bedroom full of perfect drawings. only think was, they were dated at least ten years after that last night, and were works of hands that could draw nothing else. A master of memory for one body.

**Author's Note:**

> Now must write fic for the blame person challenge and blame it on [](http://gileonnen.livejournal.com/profile)[**gileonnen**](http://gileonnen.livejournal.com/).


End file.
